


Caress

by freosan



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M, Touch-Starved, World of Ruin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-08-20 11:55:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16555292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freosan/pseuds/freosan
Summary: Has Ignis ever touched Prompto skin to skin before? Perhaps once in a while, when they were camping, it had come up. But not since, and never so deliberately - the reaction is, however, fascinating.





	Caress

**Author's Note:**

> For the kinkmeme prompt [here](https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/5690.html?thread=11021114#cmt11021114)!

After a year of darkness, Prompto’s visits to Lestallum are rarer, but he still does appear at Ignis’s door every now and then. This time, he shows up in what the clock has decided is late afternoon, rings the doorbell, and waits for Ignis to get the door even though he has his own key.

“Hey!” he chirps, the moment the door cracks open. His voice is unmistakable as always.

“Prompto,” Ignis says, an unaccustomed smile crossing his face. He throws the door wide and beckons his friend in. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I managed to get my hands on some fresh greens,” Prompto says. “We’ve got some new grow lights hooked up out at Hammerhead, and I figured if anybody could make this stuff taste good, you could.” He presses a large, light bag into Ignis’s hands.

Despite his deprecating remark about their flavor, Ignis knows that Prompto must have worked hard for the gift. Fresh greens are almost impossible to come by nowadays, and by the feel of it, Prompto has brought him several dinners’ worth. “You’ll stay for dinner, I hope, and try out whatever recipe I come up with?”

“That sounds great, Iggy,” Prompto says. “What’re we having?”

“I have daggerquill, or perhaps mushrooms… come in, and we’ll find out,” Ignis says. He takes a few steps back to let Prompto past the door.

The apartment isn’t much; with half of Eos packed into Lestallum these days, Ignis couldn’t justify anything larger than this studio, and it’s even more crowded with the things that Gladio and Prompto leave here. Still, Ignis keeps it scrupulously organized and the bed is large enough to share.

“I’ll just leave my stuff by the door, okay?” Prompto says.

“Of course. Behind the boots there, please.”Ignis hears Prompto’s bag hit the floor and then the scuffle of boots coming off. Prompto has always been good about keeping things out of his way, where it’s needed.

“Anything I can do to help?"

“I’m certain I can find something. Thank you, Prompto.” Ignis pats Prompto’s shoulder as they walk back towards the kitchen area.

It’s intended to be a casual, friendly gesture; Ignis does not expect his bare hand to come in contact with Prompto’s bare shoulder, nor did he imagine he would get any reaction from Prompto beyond a smile that he can’t see. Instead, Prompto stumbles in his tracks, and the little sound that he makes - almost a cut-off moan, if Ignis is not reading too much into it - is shocking.

Has he ever touched Prompto skin to skin before? Perhaps once in a while, when they were camping, it had come up. But not since, and never so deliberately - Ignis tries to keep himself composed, deciding that it’s safest not to say anything right now.

Prompto doesn’t, either. Ignis directs him to start the rice and wash the greens, while he hunts for protein. They settle on garula meatballs, with rice to extend the other ingredients. It’s getting harder to find meat, as the animals succumb to the lack of food, but it’s not yet impossible, and Ignis has as much of a personal stockpile as he can justify.

He has also been trying to organize food preservation and animal husbandry efforts. There’s no telling, of course, how long the darkness will last - as does every time he thinks of that, Ignis reaches for his daggers in the armiger, the one assurance he has that his king yet lives - but every instinct Ignis has tells him that it will be longer than they are prepared for.

“Hey, Iggy, where’s the oil?” Prompto asks, breaking him out of his reverie.

The oil is in the cabinet above where Prompto stands at the counter. Ignis could simply _tell_ him this, of course. Instead, he puts the meat on the counter and leans over Prompto, resting a hand on his shoulder as he reaches to open the cabinet and pull out the bottle.

He knows this time that he does not imagine the quickened breathing or the way Prompto’s spine stiffens when his fingers brush the skin at the back of Prompto’s neck. Still, though, he says nothing of it. It may or may not be something that they need to address, and he would rather not embarrass Prompto, if he can avoid it.

The reaction is, however, fascinating.

“You should only need a splash,” Ignis says. “Just enough to coat the pan; I don’t know where I shall find more of that when it’s gone.”

He has to take a step away, turning to get down a bowl for the meatballs, before Prompto takes in another breath and responds. “Another one of those problems for later, huh?”

“One must prioritize in these times,” Ignis says, likely not as flippant as he’d like to be. Prompto’s fingers brush his as he hands the oil back.

They make the meatballs together in comfortable silence, interspersed with Prompto’s humming. Ignis steals more than one leaf of the greens before it makes it to the sauté. It’s a terrible habit, and Ignis used to scold the others for it, but he feels he can be forgiven just this once.

“I can’t believe you’re snacking before dinner,” Prompto says, echoing his thoughts.

“I suppose I have no need to be a good example anymore,” Ignis replies, taking another leaf.

“Or try and reverse-psychology Noct into -” Prompto stops there, and Ignis doesn’t need to see him to know what his face looks like. “Sorry,” he mutters.

“Don’t be,” Ignis says, quietly. Hearing Noct’s name is always painful; he doubts it will stop, until Noct returns, but avoiding pain cannot be his priority. “He wouldn’t want us not to speak of him.”

Prompto thinks about that for a moment, then hums his agreement. “And he’d love seeing you breaking your own rules.”

“He’d hold it over my head for weeks,” Ignis replies. He’s surprised to find that it isn’t hard to say.

Prompto continues humming as he works. Ignis recognizes parts of the tunes, sometimes, old radio hits from back in Insomnia or video game themes. It means Ignis never loses track of where he is, and it’s such a simple, kind thing that Ignis feels his heart swell each time Prompto starts in on a new song.

He’s not thinking much of it, when he puts his hands on Prompto’s hips; he’s simply feeling comfortable, moving Prompto out of his way a little so they can stand side by side at the sink. He doesn’t expect Prompto to gasp the way he does, as though Ignis has stung him rather than touched him.

“My apologies,” Ignis says quietly, taking a step back.

“Nah, no, it’s fine,” Prompto says. “Surprised me is all. Uh, you’ve got space.”

Ignis steps up to the sink and begins washing off his knives. There is a notably Prompto-shaped emptiness at his side; in such a small kitchen, it’s hard not to brush up against each other, but Prompto manages it for quite a while. Ignis begins to wonder if he’d misjudged his earlier reaction.

On a whim, perhaps thinking to make up for the awkwardness, he pulls out ingredients for a pie: lard and sugar and canned fruit. They’re all things he’s been hoarding, knowing they’ll be impossible luxuries soon, if the night goes on for much longer. He shies away from that thought, but Prompto seems to have the same concerns.

“Hey, are you sure you want to take that stuff out? I mean it’s not like you’ve got real guests.”

“I insist, Prompto. How else will I tempt you to return from Hammerhead again? I haven’t much else to compete with Cindy’s charms.”

The strangled noise Prompto makes _this_ time is familiar. Ignis laughs to himself and begins on the crust.

By the time they’re putting the pie in the oven, Prompto has carefully bumped against Ignis’s shoulder twice.

—

Ignis doesn’t often go to these parties, though the power plant workers hold them regularly. The constant stress they’re all under makes release a necessity. For Ignis, who has never been much for crowds, it’s better found in a hunting trip or a quiet moment and a carefully hoarded cigarette, but Prompto and Gladio like being among people, and having the two of them here is reason enough for Ignis to celebrate.

He wishes that he could see, he realizes, as he sits and waits for the two of them to return to him. Missing his vision is no longer a constant for him, and it takes him a few moments to understand what it is that he wants to know: what Prompto looks like, running back and forth helping with the setup for the party.

The next time Prompto swings by where Ignis is sitting, Ignis stops him from dashing off again with a hand on his shoulder. He has his gloves on, so they don’t touch skin to skin; still, Ignis can tell that the moment he reaches out, all of Prompto’s attention is on him.

“What’s up, Igster?” Ignis has to smile at that. Prompto sounds genuinely happy, for the moment, and it’s worth savoring.

“I wonder if you’d tell me what’s going on? It’s difficult to get a clear picture from here.”

Prompto pauses, and Ignis suppresses the urge to apologize for reminding him of his disability. But Prompto rallies admirably. “I’ll do you one better. Come with me?”

“Of course,” Ignis says. Prompto takes his hand and tugs him to his feet.

They walk around the open field, a little apart from the crowds, and Prompto tells Ignis what’s happening everywhere; where the wood piles are being built, who’s bringing in food and drinks, who’s already started celebrating. Ignis knew all this in the abstract, but Prompto’s artist’s eye brings it into more solid focus, helping him contextualize all of the pieces of information he has. Gladio is over helping to get the fire built, it seems; Jeanne has control of the food, and is distributing the tarts that Ignis brought with him to her helpers. Iris is trying to get a group of teenagers to dance. Ignis can hear their tentative off-beat steps as Prompto escorts him past, and Iris calls out a greeting to them.

Prompto detangles his hand from Ignis’s, says, “I’ll be right back,” and darts off. Ignis hears Iris squeal and Prompto laugh, a smattering of applause, and then Prompto is back at his side, breathing somewhat heavily.

“Sorry. Wanted to give her a decent dance partner for a second. Remember that lift you taught me back before Noct’s 20th?”

Ignis does remember, and he smiles, though remembering that happier time is still tinged with pain. Prompto steps a little closer to him, brushing his fingers against Ignis’s wrist to ask for his hand back; instead, Ignis runs his hand up Prompto’s arm and lays it on Prompto’s shoulder. Prompto’s breath hitches and he leans into Ignis, like a flower towards the sun.

“Sorry,” Prompto breathes. “It’s been… a while.”

“No need to apologize. I’m grateful that you trust me.”

Prompto ducks his head under Ignis’s hand, and Ignis is grateful also to be able to feel it. “How long has it been?” he asks.

Prompto hums noncommittally. “A long time. And after Zegnautus…”

“Of course. My apologies,” Ignis says.

“No need from you, either,” Prompto tells him. He puts his hand over Ignis’s, keeping it on his shoulder. “It’s just nice. I didn’t know I needed it this much.”

They don’t speak of it again, as Prompto leads Ignis around the edge of the field and to a patch of grass near the bonfire.

The bonfire isn’t a usual thing; they have to bring enough wood back for it, since these parties aren’t worth wasting other fuel on. Ignis likes it, though. Even with no sun, the seasons carry on, and tonight he can taste the snap of autumn in the air. Prompto seems to feel the chill too. As the two of them sit on a blanket, faces turned toward the fire, he leans into Ignis’s side.

Ignis rests his hand on the back of Prompto’s head, and curls his fingers, ever so slightly. He can feel Prompto’s body shudder, where his thigh is pressed against Ignis’s. With another gentle scratch, Prompto sinks halfway into his lap.

It doesn’t feel odd at all to wrap his arms around Prompto’s shoulders and stroke his hair. He still takes good care of it, though it’s a little longer and a little softer now than it used to be. Ignis can imagine his eyes sliding closed and the soft smile that he’d wear, illuminated in the firelight.

It may not be an accurate imagining - he never committed Prompto’s face to memory, the way Noctis’s smile is seared into his mind - but he tries to push that thought away. He has this: the feel of Prompto relaxed and trusting under his hands, the warmth of the fire, Gladio’s laugh when he sees the two of them. Perhaps just for a moment, just for now, he can let himself _be_.

The peace can’t last long, but when they’ve returned home at the end of the night, Ignis says, “Thank you,” and puts his hand on Prompto’s shoulder. Prompto doesn’t flinch away; indeed, he leans into Ignis’s touch, not saying a word until Ignis releases him.

“Other way around, dude,” he says, and disappears into the bathroom. Ignis contemplates following him, when he hears the shower running, but he isn’t quite certain yet that he’ll be welcome.

—

To be on an expedition with Cor and Prompto together is unusual. Ignis typically must take at least one companion when he looks for the tombs - ancient Solheim, after all, was not even slightly concerned with accessible writing systems. Only a few times before has he managed to convince two people to come with him.

It’s good to hear Cor and Prompto talking, though - or rather, Prompto talking, and Cor occasionally making a noise that might be agreeable. It’s very good to know that his friends are strengthening their bonds. Ignis has not yet let himself think that they might not all be here when the sun rises; however, what little information he has gathered from the tombs strongly indicates that if they are to remain alive, they must hang together.

They make it a fair way up the mountainside before they decide to stop at a haven for the night.

Cor has helped Ignis cook often enough, but as reassuring as his steady, quiet presence is, it’s not like having Prompto at his side. The Marshal is more than happy to concede the tiny camp kitchen to his Crownsguard. And Prompto seems happy as well, humming as he works and cracking jokes about the opportunities for photography.

As much as he finds the opportunity, Ignis indulges himself in touching Prompto - a hand on his lower back to direct him, a brush of fingers as they pass knives back and forth. Somewhere in this extended, mostly silent conversation they’ve been engaged in, Ignis promised to keep his hands above Prompto’s belt, and Prompto promised not to be scared when Ignis touched him.

Ignis has no idea if Cor has noticed or not, but if he has, he hasn’t said a word.

Dinner is simpler than Ignis would prefer to put out for the Marshal, but at least the stew comes out flavorful enough. The three of them sort out their plan for the next day - a hike towards a cave that, if Ignis’s information is at all correct, once formed part of a Solheim university - and talk quietly about backup plans and news from their various home haunts until Prompto starts yawning

Ignis is starting to feel tired himself, until Prompto leans against his side and rests his head on his shoulder. Then he is <i> _wide </i> _awake. He tries not to stumble too much, but nonetheless, when he’s finished with the sentence he was trying to construct, Cor doesn’t respond to his point.

“You two okay?” he asks instead.

“I believe he’s fallen asleep,” Ignis says. He lays his hand on Prompto’s back, feeling the slow, regular rise and fall of his chest. Even in his sleep, Prompto arches into the touch. Ignis hopes it’s dark enough that Cor can’t see the motion. He has an idea that Prompto might be embarrassed by it, and Ignis never wants Prompto to feel shame.

“I’ll do the same. In the tent,” Cor says. Ignis hears him get to his feet.

“I’ll take first watch, then,” Ignis replies. Daemons aren’t a danger in this haven, but there are more human threats than Ignis would have thought, sometimes. Desperate people do desperate, terrible things. But he has full confidence in his ability to handle any human unwise enough to take him on.

“Wake me when you need relief,” Cor says. He walks off towards the tent, and soon enough Ignis hears the zipper closing.

Prompto sighs against his shoulder, and Ignis reaches out to him, pulling him into his lap. Ignis is no longer susceptible to the spell of twilight, that time when it seems things that are never spoken aloud are safe to articulate. Still, the scent of the fire, the warmth of the air, and the artless way Prompto is sprawled over his lap combine to give him that same comforting sense of the rough edges having been sanded off the world.

Prompto stirs in his lap, burrowing his face into Ignis’s stomach. Automatically Ignis moves to stroke his hair. When Prompto makes a questioning noise, Ignis pulls his hand back, but the atmosphere seems to have lowered Prompto’s inhibitions as well. He grabs Ignis’s hand and pulls it against his face.

“Prompto…”

“Take your gloves off? Please?”

He doesn’t have to ask twice. Ignis strips his gloves off and stashes them in the armiger. The moment his hands are free, Prompto takes his wrist again, pressing a kiss to his palm.

Ignis lets his fingers trace over Prompto’s face, feeling out the juts of eyebrow, cheek, jaw. He presses his thumb against Prompto’s cracked lips; Prompto gasps at that, his tongue flicking out, and Ignis has to smile. “You’re beautiful,” he says.

“Iggy, let me - can I -“ Prompto seems to flounder for the words, and Ignis pauses, his knuckles just grazing Prompto’s cheek.

“What is it?” he asks.

“Don’t know,” Prompto admits. Ignis wonders if he is blushing; he hopes so, can nearly imagine the way pink would spread over his pale cheeks. “It just… feels like I should be doing something.”

“There’s no need,” Ignis replies. “In fact, if you’ll permit it, I should like it if you stayed right where you are.”

“I… yeah,” Prompto nearly whispers. Ignis can feel his breath ghosting over his wrist. “Are you sure this is ok?”

“What is it you’re concerned about?” Ignis asks.

Prompto shakes his head, the motion obvious against Ignis’s thigh. “Never mind.”

“If you think it’s a hardship to touch you, you’re mistaken,” Ignis says. He lets his hand run down Prompto’s side, feeling almost possessive, and Prompto whines low and quiet in his throat. He touches the waist of Prompto’s pants and pauses there until he feels Prompto’s nod. Slowly, Ignis pulls the tank top up and out of the way, and spreads a hand over the soft skin of his flank. Prompto’s whole body shakes at the direct contact. Taking a chance, Ignis strokes Prompto’s hair with one hand, and lets the fingers of the other trail down to rest on Prompto’s belt buckle.

Prompto hisses, a sound that Ignis can only imagine comes with gritted teeth and a grimace. “No - uh, don’t - not there.” 

Ignis pulls his hands away from Prompto entirely. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. You can, um, you can keep going if you want.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yeah. Yeah, _please_. Just not… I’m not ready for that yet.”

“Alright,” Ignis says. He starts again at Prompto’s face, caressing his cheek with gentle fingers. Prompto melts into the softer touch almost instantly. Ignis feels him lick his lips when he trails his fingertips over his mouth, and swallow when Ignis runs his hand over his throat. Stroking his side again earns him a soft, quiet moan, and Prompto curling around him, pressing his face into Ignis’s stomach.

Ignis spends a few moments quietly rubbing Prompto’s back, feeling his shoulder blades and his spine under his shirt - he’s lost weight again; all of them need to eat more - as Prompto shivers and twists into his hands. He’s always been more than usually responsive to Ignis’s touch, but this is beyond anything Ignis has experienced with him.

“I had no idea you’d be so exquisite,” Ignis murmurs. “You - gods, Prompto. No one has appreciated you enough.” He keeps his voice low, not wanting to attract attention - Cor’s, or any creatures that are prowling the night - but he wants Prompto to know this.

“Keep that up, Iggy, and I’m gonna…” Prompto trails off in a quiet moan.

He cannot possibly be implying what Ignis thinks he is implying, but Ignis feels him moving, feels the hardness of him pressing against his hip where Prompto’s curled around him. “Just from this?” Ignis asks. Oh, it’s not fair of him to tease, but Prompto’s hips buck when Ignis runs his fingernails gently up his ribs, and Ignis can’t resist repeating the motion.

“Maybe,” Prompto breathes more than says.

“Go ahead, then,” Ignis says. He’s petting Prompto’s hair by now, and he leans down to kiss the top of his head, soft and careful. “I want to hear you.”

Prompto doesn’t seem to know what to do with his free hand, fingertips tapping Ignis’s chest and then gripping lightly at his shirt, so Ignis takes his hand and digs his thumb into the center of Prompto’s palm. Prompto lets out another one of those breathy, gentle moans as Ignis massages the tension away.

When Ignis releases him, helping him find a place to settle his hand on Ignis’s hip, Prompto sighs again. Ignis leans down and kisses him, careful, almost chaste. He can feel Prompto’s smile against his lips. Prompto isn’t so much smaller than him, but the difference is enough that Ignis feels he’s surrounding Prompto, protecting him. Prompto seems to have forgotten everything but Ignis, perfectly relaxed in his lap as Ignis pets him, everywhere Prompto has asked him to touch.

Ignis is in no rush, but he takes advantage of what he’s quickly learning are Prompto’s most sensitive places; the curve of his hip just above his belt, the hollow of his throat, the tender skin of his ribs. He can feel every movement Prompto makes in response, now mostly pressing into his hands as though he can’t help chasing Ignis’s touch. It takes time, but finally, incredibly, Prompto goes tense under Ignis’s hands and then melts, sighing out his orgasm. Ignis holds him through it, murmuring nonsense that he hopes communicates something of his own pleasure.

Prompto comes back to him after a few moments, pulling himself upright though he doesn’t seem to want to move away. “Uh… wow, Iggy,” he says, laughing on the last word. “Wow. Thank you? Can I…”

Ignis pulls him close and kisses him, no chaste press of lips this time, but a deep exploration of Prompto’s mouth. Prompto makes a beautiful noise low in his throat and sinks against Ignis once again; Ignis pulls him along as he lays backwards, uncaring of the rough stone of the haven under him. For the moment, there is nothing more important to Ignis than having Prompto over him.


End file.
